


Silence

by Steelcap



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 20:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19875250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steelcap/pseuds/Steelcap
Summary: A (sadly incomplete) comical account of the loss of Lord Phobos planet to his now band mate Commander Meouch and the vow of eternal silence he took as a result.





	Silence

The brilliant yellow sunlight of a new dawn spilled across the grand and marbled staircase of the Spire of Omnia. Even now the faithful adherents across the city were in motion, slow and unhurried lumbering strides towards the beacon reflecting the morning sun. Atop this splendid jewel of the city stood their beloved savior; he who brought peace and civility to their world, the voice that spread their philosophical wisdom, bringer of The Calm, Lord Phobos.

“People of Serenia… Good Morning” Intoned the great prophet Lord Phobos.

“ Good Morning, Lord Phobos ” the low and single toned voice of his followers replied.  
  
“It’s a beautiful day today is it not?” Inquired the great prophet of the Calm to his people.  
  
“ Yes… though that one cloud looks like rain. ” responded the entire crowd as a single unified voice, one thought, one note, one unified civilization.

“It does rain sometimes…” conceded the great prophet of Serenia, the only truly peaceful global civilization the galaxy had ever known. “But then again…” the booming voice of Phobos echoed throughout the city.  “Sometimes... it’s sunny.” concluded the great prophet, The Voice of Reason.

“ It’s nice when it’s sunny. ” The people of Serenia, across millions of homes, across thousands of cities, beamed out globally each and every morning for the morning ritual of “Polite Conversation About The Weather” responded in time. This particular ritual and it’s intricacies had come to Lord Phobos in a dream in a time before Serenia when his world and his people were not as peacefully united as they were now, but such times were not worth considering, the world was pleasant and temperate, the sky was mostly blue and sunny, across the entire globe. The temperature was mild and pleasant, a gentle breeze caressed the skin of the planet, everywhere on the planet at once, Paradise.

Yes it was certain to be another in a long and very pleasant history of nearly identical days. Having concluded the morning service with it’s traditional “ Well I really had better be going, do give my regards to the rest of your family. ” delivered by the great prophet unto his people,Lord Phobos did not wait for the response from the assembled faithful, though he had no doubt as to its content, Before he descended the great spiral stair of the Spire. Even now he could hear it ringing out throughout the city, one unified voice, one people, all speaking as one.

“ Yes we had really better get on with our day as well. ”

Magnificent.

The breakfast hall had been lain out in splendid repast; hard boiled eggs piled neatly and uniformly across a dozen plates, steaming cauldrons of wheat meal porridge, freshly boiled cabbage perfectly tender to the fork, and a veritable pyramid of small white wobbling cubes of tofu. Lord Phobos rubbed his hands together the traditional number of times in appreciative anticipation and took his seat at the head of the table. At a leisured and unhurried pace the seats around the table, as well as at countless other tables throughout the hall, were filled with those who lived and worked in and around the Spire. Without particular ceremony nor invocation the diners began to portion out spoonfuls of breakfast onto their smooth beige plates, just as was dictated by their most sacred rites of “Something Filling To Get The Day Started.”  
  
“ No Time For anything fancy Dear, just a hot Coffee for the road . ”  The diners all intoned together once each plate had filled, reciting the ancient prayer that had long since lost its meaning. Coffee was understood to be the term for the morning meal in a formal and deeply ceremonial sense, whereas  Breakfast  served as the more mundane term for the meal. Lord Phobos chewed a biteful of some quite uniformly cooked cabbage as he contemplated the marvelous peace and order that Serenia enjoyed thanks to the miraculous teachings of “The Calm”. Really it was serendipity that he should have stumbled upon the texts, that he should be the conduit through which the most perfectly serene philosophy should come to dominate his planet. He took his position as Voice of The Calm with all the grace and humility demanded of him, because of course“Getting A Big Head About It” would be quite heretical to the teachings.

“ Well that was quite good thank you, but I couldn’t eat another bite.”  Phobos intoned, pushing back his chair before completing the ritual, dabbing his mouth corners with a beige cloth napkin and pushing the chair back in. 

“ Gosh is that the time, I should’ve left by now if I want to make it to the office in time. ”  The hall echoed his movements, each taking a small cloth from their place setting and wiping it unceremoniously across their faces in what was a hallowed and time honored ceremony. The people of Serenia were extremely observant of the one deeply philosophical religion “The Calm”. The practice of which could be observed as a series of social niceties, esoteric rituals, and a generally laid back and disinterested attitude to the events of the day. The days were therefore, nearly guaranteed to be utterly disinteresting and unlikely to cause any alarm or distress. Days which were perfect for simply turning off any of the more creatively dissatisfied parts of the brain and allowing oneself to complete their days tasks in an almost fugue state, a state which most retail workers desperately prefer to the horrifying alternative of being entirely mentally present for every moment of their agonizing work day. The Calm had therefor quickly taken root throughout society for each and every citizen who had parts of their day that they would really rather just fast forward over, and come to that, part of their week, month, or year. Those truly observant could quite possibly find themselves skipping the vast majority of ages 8 to 80, a monumental achievement of faith to have not spent a single waking moment actually present in their life.

And so, morning rituals concluded, Lord Phobos strode purposefully through the dull gray streets and past the off-white towers of Serenia’s capital city of Omnia. He waved placidly to passers by and they shrugged and waved back in what was considered a reverential way.

Serenia had restructured it’s society to accommodate this more laid back and uneventful life plan. Teachers would slowly tap various symbols on broad white boards with long extended pointing devices from their smooth brown desks to make monotonal voices recite brief and informative descriptions to row after row of glassy eyed students. Tower after Tower of office buildings would house floor after floor of taupe carpets and beige walls where grey suited professionals typed away at off-white computer terminals. Back outside, endlessly long conveyor belts would transport crops in endlessly swaying fields whose round trip duration was sufficient for its entire growth cycle. Each belt was worked in turn by a worker who plucked the ripe and harvestable plant from its synthetic soil and replaced it with a seed and a spritz of water from a small  nozzled hose. 

“ Working Hard...or...Hardly Working?”  Lord Phobos inquired jocularly to the rows and rows of slack faced and unworried workmen, much as he did every day and was greeted in response with the quick exhalation of breath through the nose that was customary in response to comedy.

He inspected the beltways, he checked in on the classrooms, he waved up at the office buildings, he stared in confusion as a silver and blue metalic starship screamed its way across the skyline.

“ Oh Dear.”

This starship was not usual. In fact it was making itself less and less usual by the moment as it weaved violently between office towers, lurched and belched great clouds of noxious looking smoke and, which was worse, made a god awful racket as it did so. The sound could best be described as follows. Imagine someone had made great strides in the fields of astrophysics, engineering, atomic metallurgy, and perhaps xenobiology, who had produced the galaxy’s most biologically advanced and complex speciation of what one might call a cat. And then, having done so, against all logic or sanity, had flung it unceremoniously into an active tumble dryer and affixed a microphone to the door.

Lord Phobos might have remained in this state of imaginative distraction had not he noticed that all around him the rows of belt workers had joined him in staring unbelievingly into the sky. This was not the time for pontification, this was a time for leadership. The craft was coming to a wobbly and uncertain landing in a plaza not too far off and as the first meeting of a new galactic emissary, it was Lord Phobos’s duty to welcome them on behalf of his planet and his people to the world of Serenia. The meeting of two civilizations was often a momentous occasion of great scientific, philosophical, diplomatic, and religious importance, which was why it came as such a great shock when the cargo doors of the craft were unceremoniously kicked open with a distinct ringing  CLANG . Down the gangway strode a flamboyantly dressed, broad shouldered, six foot tall, bipedal cat like beast with large conspicuous bundles hefted over each shoulder. Pausing at the point his craft met the beige tiles of the plaza mosaic he proceeded to dump the two bulky duffles off his shoulders and raise his hands to his muzzled and be-maned face to shout in a deep bass growling voice. This was to be the first communication with the new emissary of an alien world. 

“WHO WANTS TO BUY SOME DRUGS?!”

Space is a truly remarkable place, if indeed you could consider the interstitial absence of anything whatsoever as a place. Among the remarkable things about space is how well it can hide a thing by the simple fact of its enormity. No matter what context in which the thing used to seem truly incomprehensibly significant, once measured against the vast unending void of the cosmos it truly was “no big deal”. This fact came as a profound comfort to the former Commander of the Talabrexian Galactic Federated Armada, whose former name was Leo Therafrace Panthera Droxxine III, who currently went by the much more compact “Meouch”.

Commander Meouch insisted that due to the fact that no formal military tribunal had been held and since no formal charges had been arraigned and since he had not officially abandoned his post (only unofficially) he was quite entitled to continue to refer to himself as “Commander”. In point of historical fact, Commander Meouch had been formally charged, arraigned, and convicted of dereliction and stripped of all titles. However, since he had not been present, due to his previously observed dereliction, he remained blissfully and willfully unaware of this fact.

“Hey Computer?” Meouch implored, slung haphazardly across the command chair of his stollen scout ship. 

“Awaiting orders, Commander”  The synthetic feminine voice of his computer console chirped dutifully.

“Yeah, great.. Scroll up the star chart for this local cluster would you? I’ve got some cargo to unload and some suppliers eager to see their cut.” The computer dutifully began filling the main display console with the astro cartographic data on file for region but, Meouch only waved it off.

“Nope, no, the other data.. The, what did I call it, Oh yeah, the Funk Index.”  Meouch said with a grin as the display switched from important scientific data regarding rainfall, population density, technological advanced and all manner of incredibly useful statistical figures to a crude smiley face with a meter indicating how opaque their glasses were. Clustered around the flight path of the stolen scout ship were a wake of fully sunglassed worlds with such helpful captions as “All Funked Up” and “Chill AF” indicating the commander’s general approval with how cool of a planet it was.

“Haha, my kind of people, well, not  my  people but you know what I mean yeah? Heh.. My people were a real…” Meouch paused in his rhetoric to take a dramatic pull of a small and colorful device held to his lips, breathing out a large plume of vapor. “...Drag.” He finished with a grin. The computer had not been programmed to appreciate the extremely subtle word play but in its enthusiasm to be helpful to it’s commander chimed in.

“Would you like to plot a course to any adjacent world Commander?”

“Yeah, sure, sounds-” Meouch was suddenly struck dumb by the display which had been slowly panning off in the direction of his ship’s current trajectory and which had just revealed a here-to-for unseen icon. If the scale values within the Funk Index measured from your average dude all the way to the chillest bro, this planet was unambiguously categorized as a “Poindexter”. The small icon was grinning doofishly at him with bucked front teeth,  staring over his taped coke bottle glasses. Somehow, this planet had scored a negative value for Funk, it was a black hole from which chill vibes could not escape. A planet who not only did not “rock” but could be argued would be greatly improved in a musical sense by the addition of bagpipes and flugel horns. The effects of which could be seen spiraling out around it, nearby astral bodies were growing decidedly nerdier in its vicinity, sweet shades cracking and the hint of slightly crossed eyes being revealed behind them. What in the hell was this place?

“Computer? Set a course for whatever in the name of screaming hair metal that thing is.”

“Yes Commander, plotting course.”  Lights and consoles began to blip to life all around the cockpit as various stations set themselves to the task automatically, replacing the crew that Meouch had long ago jettisoned in favor of a more agreeable companion. Tossing the small vapor emitting device aside for the moment, Meouch reached beneath his seat and withdrew it. The only friend he needed in the galaxy, his Bass. Plucking out a quick riff, Meouch settled back in his Commander’s seat as the ship lurched into hyperspace and catapulted dozens of times the speed of light through the fabric of spacetime.

Much has been made on the topic of hyperspacial collisions. “What would occur if an object traveling through hyperspace  were to intersect a (relatively) stationary object such as, say, a small planet?” Imaginative scholars speculated for decades that such an impact would be quite mind bogglingly destructive, multiplying the mass of the object, raised to near infinitely exponential values by its speed exceeding the speed of light resulting in an explosion that would rend entire parsecs of space nothing more than atomic radiation. This is of course impossible. Objects traveling through hyperspace are, by definition, not traveling through normal space and intersections with forces like mass or gravity would be entirely beyond the realm of science. This is why it came as such a surprise when rather than exiting hyperspace on the normally plotted arrival vector, the ship came to a sudden and slamming halt several thousand kilometers outside of the ionosphere of the planet, catapulting its nominal captain from his seat and lodging him among the command consoles. 

“Commander, we appear to have deviated from out projected course, attempting to recalibrate.”  The computer chirped helpfully as Meouch crawled down from the banks of monitors.

“Yeah..Noticed that.” The commander groaned, his Bass flung from his grip and now embedded somewhere among the banks of computers.  “Just uh.. Take us down under impulse power okay?”

“Yes Commander, 10 minutes until estimated landfall, please brace for atmospheric interference.” 

“Atmow h a u g h ” The commander replied as the ship lurched suddenly, flinging the feline commander to the floor, landing, as a credit to his species, on all fours. Meouch struggled his way back up to the chair and began buckling himself in when once again the ship was suddenly and violently lurched, this time in the opposite direction.

“Commander, an unknown atmospheric force appears to be repelling the craft from optimal landing vectors.”

“What like, uh, the planet doesn’t want us to land or something? ” Meouch groused as he strapped himself smartly in place, clipping the stability harness over his chest. “Can’t you compensate or something? Use, what ever, sub-optimal landing vectors, I don’t care just get us down there.”

In keeping with the best traditions of mindless robotic obedience to authority, the computer aided navigation systems began to calculate a landing vector that would compensate for the seemingly reactive efforts of the planet to resist being landed upon. Once a brief biological and medical scan confirmed that the G-Forces involved in the approach were safely, if.. narrowly, within acceptably low probabilities for lethality to the crew, the impulse rockets roared to life and the computer set about it’s task of “Getting us down there.”

“Yes Commander, at once.”

What followed was perhaps the most brilliant work of automated piloting ever to be mistaken for a binge drinking cadet’s shamefully inebriated first attempt behind the controls of a starship. Whatever displeasure the commander may have had at the computer for engaging this particular flight path was lost in the combination of harrowed screaming, enthusiastic vomiting, and whatever noise it was that an amplified bass guitar made as it cartwheeled around a starship cabin. Careening violently in every possible rotational vector, the starship made its way down to the planet’s surface, slaloming between tall beige towers and catapulting across vast and gently swaying fields. As abruptly as the research into creative alternatives to pharmacological emetics had begun, it suddenly ceased.

“Landing complete Commander. Local ambient temperature is 295 kelvin, oxygen nitrogen atmospheric ratio stands at 22%, it’s a lovely sunny day Sir.” 

A less advanced lifeform may have harbored some resentment towards the automated navigation system for their callous disregard for the well cultivated chill that one attempted to engender in long and lonely space flights but the commander was far too relaxed a life form to waste his efforts being upset at the inanimate.

“Nice job Computer...I may have a few more uh.. parameters for your navi-com later… ”  Rising shakily but tenaciously to his feet, Commander Meouch strode on wobbly legs to the cargo hold, slung two very large satchels over his shoulders and kicked open the door of his ship. It was time to make some customers.

The Great Hall of Omnia was abuzz with the news of the emissary's landing. Rumor and speculation murmured quietly from one servant to another about the peculiar circumstances of his arrival and about his tendency to thrust small vials and baggies at any available servant hands that came too near to him. It was said that his arrival was heralded by a great and terrible metal screech as if the sky itself were being violently sick all over a thunderstorm. Witnesses to the event were difficult to come by however as Lord Phobos had pointed out how such distraction from their work would necessarily indicate a certain dereliction on the part of the witness and that such lack of focus and commitment was gently frowned upon, the gentle frown of the great prophet was not a thing to be taken lightly.

As duty and custom dictated, the Emissary was to be brought to Great Hall at the base of the Spire, the most ostentatious and extravagant structure anywhere found on Serenia. Delicately carved marble was joined at precisely engineered angles to form the hall in, what The Great Prophet had relayed to his architects, the most ideal and harmonious acoustics possible. Carefully dyed and woven cloth was meticulously embroidered across the marble floors creating intricate and pleasing patterns of soft grays and blues, the fine interwoven meshwork being rendered nearly invisible to the human eye at distances of greater than 5 feet but the overall balance of regal sophistication and appropriate modesty was struck. The grandeur of this structure was so impressive to the Emissary that upon his arrival the pure majesty of it induced him to remark  “It looks like you spent a king’s ransom to hire all the world’s greatest craftsmen and designers and then set them to work building a church basement.” . A comment which the Great Prophet assured his retinue was the highest praise.

The most curious thing about the emissary, which is really saying something in consideration of the totality of oddness one could use to describe an alien life form, was one would call a “Culture Clash”. The emissary did not tut appreciatively, he whistled. The emissary did not frown imperceptibly, he grimaced. If the entirety of Serenia’s facial output could be calculated to a single sum number, the single entity that was the emissary would easily double or triple it. But if forced to select the second most curious thing about the emissary, it would have to be the way he seemed to delight in annoying Lord Phobos. As they toured the great hall and its surrounding structure at the base of the Spire, the emissary and Lord Phobos were embroiled in what could most charitably be called “Getting to Know Each other”.

“I mean the colors, man, it’s like you found the city’s saturation knob and dialed it to a zero. It’s all so… BROWN!”

“The colors of Serenia are designed to be both soothing and pleasant. They are… Calming.”  The great prophet patiently explained.

“Yeah? Then how come I’m so worked up about them?” Retorted commander meouch needling the prophet nearly constantly since their meeting.  “You’ve heard of style haven’t you? It’s that thing that other planets have got. The thing that keeps you from wanting bite your tongue just to remember what the color red looks like.”

“Our planet is lacking in neither style nor color, the color of that particular plate is ‘Taupe’.”

“Yeah? And what the hell is a taupe anyway huh? You ever seen a taupe before?”

“Well”  Lord Phobos quirked a wry smirk, “Have you ever seen a red?”

A sly grin broke out over the emissary's face.  “Yeah, a few planet’s back. Nice girl, real party animal, you ought to try meeting a few Reds yourself, they might find a way to loosen that stick you rammed up this planet’s collective ass.”

The silence that followed this witty observation by the emissary would have been deafening were that role not being currently fulfilled by the expression on Lord Phobos’s face. To describe it as merely “Icy” would do a grave disservice to the spectacular chill that could be achieved in the deep vacuum of space, Lord Phobos’s expression did come in a close second however.

“Ahh”  Lord Phobos voiced mirthlessly, “A joke. Very good.”

“Yes… that’s a good one.”  The crowd dutifully intoned nearby.

“Look, I mean, you’ve got a nice little planet here yeah? It’s got the rolling grassy hills, the distant mountains, the blue skies, Hey, you know I bet it’ll be sunset any minute now, come on let’s go watch the sun set.”  Before anyone in the crowd could comment, Meouch had already broken into a run towards the grand staircase up to the top of the spire which overlooked all of Omnia. Lord Phobos however was loathe to do something so unbecoming as to jog up the grand staircase however and let out a resigned sigh as he went to a nearby utility closet and fastened the window washing harness about his torso.

Meouch had just about completed the grand flight of stairs when the a soft humming sound from below quirked his ear. There was something coming up fast from the base of the spire making a sound that seemed somewhat like a mobility scooter by way of the jetsons. It was puttering its way up the side of the spire at an impressive pace, lurching slightly as it did as if unaccustomed to the demands being placed on it.

“YOU’VE GOT JETPACKS?!”  Meouch cried out in incredulous amazement as Lord Phobos suddenly shot up over the edge of the spire, his billowing regalia flapping around him as he settled onto the ledge beside the exuberant space cat, spitting out the small collection of bugs that his face had collected in his rapid ascent.

“Ahh, indeed no.”  The High Prophet of Calm began to explain,brushing the hair and insect life from his face. “The thrust of the harness is generated by a series of coils housed in-” 

“Hey man, I have traveled 5 dozen worlds across 17 star systems and I know a jetpack when I see one. How did an uptight grook like you get your hands on some cool tech like that? I mean, that is really wild stuff!”  Pawing and poking at the high Prophet as he attempted to explain the mechanical workings of alien technology before suddenly snapping his head up to the horizon.

“Wait, hold the tech talk, it’s almost sunset.” 

And indeed the sun was making its way slowly down the edge of the horizon, the first edges of sunlight just starting to be obscured. There was one constant that never failed to truly move and inspire the artists soul and that was the staggering panoply of light that would cascade across the sky as the last glimmering motes of sunlight were obfuscated by the planet. No matter the planet or the star, no matter the gasses that made up the atmosphere, the results were always spectacular, rich vibrant purples, shocking orange and gold, warm ambers and cool violets streaking and intermingling with the last darkening shades of blue that made up the day’s sky as it surrendered in spectacular display to the dark of night. A sunset could stir a soul and rouse the artist from even the most torpid stagnation, which was why it was so deeply disappointing when last light the day’s sun slipped past the line of the horizon and the sky simply faded from blue to black. It was like tossing a yellow ball off the side of a building.

“There is something very wrong with this planet… it’s…  Boring ”

The following morning, to no particular fanfare or celebration, the sun popped back up into place in the sky, breaking the horizon with an unhurried and disinterested pace. The people of Omnia began to shuffle disinterestedly towards the spire as they always did, the same ritual each morning to go and greet the prophet, and by extension the new day as well. Even as Lord Phobos strode up the tall grand marble staircase to the peak of the spire he could tell something was off. The formerly clipped and even footsteps of the followers below was now more of a milling crowd, quiet unrelated conversation made a faint humm of noise which was entirely unbecoming of such a sacred and time honored traditional ritual. Still, the prophet persevered. Reaching the climax he cleared his throat and addressed his people.

“People of Serenia… Good Morning” Intoned the great prophet Lord Phobos.

“ Go od Mo rni ng, L ord Ph o b os ” the words not quite as clear as the crowd lacked a certain coherence. Now sounding more like a contritely silenced class of grade schoolers than the collective faithful at prayer.

“It is a.. uh.. beautiful day today is it not?” Inquired the great prophet of the Calm to his people, his voice betraying only a slight hesitation.

“guess so it never really rains though does it.”

“ Yes… though that one cloud looks like rain. ”

“I kind of like the rain? I wish it would rain more often.”

The assembled had now become hopelessly divided on the question of the weather and quiet dissenting voices had begun to crop up all across the planet surface. Spreading like a wave, arguments had erupted around the current and future state of the weather and the importance of meteorological fidelity. The voice of the Calm was not pleased.

“ Where is the emissary…?”  A slight edge on his tone was the only hint of his lack of composure as he addressed a servant standing beside him. But he needn’t have asked, a thick plume of vapor down in the crowd below him was likewise spreading across the surface of the crowd centered on a very relaxed looking space lion. Stepping off the platform, Lord Phobos, voice of the Calm, high prophet and theocratic ruler of serenia descended via jetpack to reprimand an alien on the bad example he was setting but the crowd had become too thick and restless. The ordinary and orderly single file rows of adherents had given way to a cacophonous mob all jostling and pushing at each other and arguing with increasing vehemence on the topic of clouds and weather patterns.


End file.
